


Scarred

by elisetales



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Cain's a jerk, Friendship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisetales/pseuds/elisetales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain and Deimos have a little 'moment' in the shower after training. Sadfeels, handjobs, and blackmail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kurenai_Tenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenai_Tenka/gifts).



> K-T, I'm sorry your shower sex is less sex and more endless angsting.
> 
> Inspired by the Cain/Deimos shower extra by Hamletmachine!

Deimos kept to the far end of the shower room, pressing himself into a corner as Cain strode in, naked and fuming, and ripped off his towel before turning the shower on. He ignored Deimos for the moment, too busy cursing and muttering under his breath to pay much attention to anything but himself, and Deimos hoped it stayed that way. He’d always avoided showering with Cain where he could—Cain only laughed at his scarred body whenever Deimos was bare in front of him, poked and prodded and teased him over the way he looked—but today it couldn’t be helped.

The pair of them had been held back by Encke after PT for insubordination (loudly sniggering when Praxis’ combat partner had accidentally kicked him in the head) and forced to do an extra sixty push-ups after everyone else was gone. Cain had breezed through them of course, probably just to spite Encke, but by the time Deimos was done—red-faced, boneless and wheezing, Cain having to haul him up off the floor and practically drag him to the shower block—the rest of the fighters were already showered and gone. Now it was just the two of them alone, choking on steam and old sweat.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you little shit.”

Deimos jumped, blinking water out of his eyes, and looked over at Cain. “What is it?” He hadn’t heard him over the roaring spray of the shower, but he was conscious of Cain’s proximity now. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and he could feel Cain’s hard gaze on his body. He wished he wasn’t naked.

“I  _said_ ,” Cain spat, standing over Deimos now, completely unabashed about his own nakedness as he eyed Deimos up and down, “that maybe you should offer to blow the prick and he might start going easier on us.”

“Encke?”

“Yeah,” Cain sneered, a sour look on his face, “ _Encke_.” He spat the name like a curse. “Suck his cock,” Cain went on, standing under Deimos' shower-head and leaning back to wet his hair. “Bend over for him if that’s what it takes. I've seen the way he fucking looks at you; he wants you.” He glanced back down at Deimos and curled his lip in disgust. “It's got to be you, Myshonok. No way he's gonna say no if you put it in front of him.”

Deimos flushed under Cain’s furious glare. “And what then?”

“Then you threaten to tell his little  _bitch_  he's been fucking you unless he backs the fuck off. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Blackmailing the lead fighter. Risky, and almost guaranteed to fail. Deimos didn't know whether or not Cain was being serious about this, but if he was then they both knew Deimos would go through with it regardless of the risk. He'd fucked and sucked cock at Cain’s behest for much less: vodka; a lost card game or a packet of cigarettes. Deimos would do anything if it made things easier on Cain.

The Sleipnir had been a waking nightmare for Cain—here he’d been stripped of the menacing reputation he’d built on the station; the one that had ensured he, and Deimos by association, were always left alone—and Deimos was tired of watching him work himself into knots over the stress of it all.

He had to do something, even if it wound up getting them in more shit than they were already in. If Deimos couldn’t do this for Cain then no one else would. Cain needed him now.

“If it’s what you want then I’ll do it. You know I will,” Deimos whispered, and the anger slowly faded from Cain’s expression. He was pleased with Deimos for a change. He relaxed and brushed a hand through Deimos’ hair, trailing fingers down his cheek and over his lips. He told him he was a good little whore in Russian as he caressed Deimos’ chin, and Deimos flinched at that. He didn’t care what Cain called him, as long as Cain didn’t say it like they were home.

He turned away from Cain then and slowly resumed soaping his arms and chest, not wanting to face Cain with the growing arousal between his legs. Cain just stood there behind him, quiet now, and fingered the jagged scars on Deimos’ back, so close that Deimos could feel the hot skin of Cain’s chest, the fierce thud Cain’s heartbeat, against his back. He shuddered at every touch of Cain’s hands on his skin, wanting more than anything for the sensation to last but painfully aware the moment was fleeting.

It was always too fleeting when they were together, Cain tossing him nothing but the bare bones of his affection and expecting it to be enough. It had to be enough.  

Cain slid his palms down Deimos’ sides, surprised him by leaning down to suck his shoulder, stubble rough against the smoothness of Deimos' skin. He brought a hand to Deimos’ ass and pressed the tip of a finger to his hole, gently circling it but never pressing in. Deimos swallowed a desperate little moan. No point reminding Cain how badly Deimos needed him. Cain wouldn't fuck him, just liked to tease, make Deimos whine and shake and beg him for it before he laughed and admonished him for being a desperate little slut; told him to go fuck himself if he wanted it so bad.

“Is the door locked?” Deimos rasped in a quivering voice. He didn’t want Cain to stop touching him, but the last thing either of them needed was Encke storming in and catching Cain with his dick pressed up against another fighter’s ass. They’d both be up in front of Bering then and Cain had enough shit to deal with as it was. Deimos wanted to keep him out of trouble if he could.

Cain’s chest shuddered with laughter. “Doesn’t have to be fucking locked. Everyone knows whose bitch you are. They all think you’re in here right now getting pounded into the floor, so what fucking difference does it make?” He pressed the head of his cock into the small of Deimos’ back just to punctuate his point. Deimos struggled not to push back against him, even if he was desperate for Cain’s cock, fingers, anything inside him. Too much eagerness always made Cain stop.  

But Cain didn’t. He spun Deimos round and pressed him into the cold tiled wall, pinning one of Deimos’ wrists over his head and dragging his other hand down between them, onto Cain’s cock. Deimos tried to breathe, surprised Cain didn’t want to save his hard-on for his perfect little navigator. It’d been months since they’d done this. Deimos guessed something was up between Cain and the navigator.

Cain’s cock pulsed hotly in Deimos’ hand, thick and heavy and perfect, and Deimos tried his hardest not to stare at it, knowing Cain would only taunt him for being so fucking needy. He stroked slowly instead, Cain’s hand twisted in his hair and holding his head firmly in place, Cain looking him right in the eyes while Deimos touched him. He did it so that Deimos never forgot who owned him, that there was no escaping Cain. But Deimos couldn’t help wondering what Cain was really thinking about; how Cain felt when he looked at him; whether things'd be any different if it weren't for the navigator.

Deimos doubted it. He still wouldn't be good enough to make a habit out of fucking, even if the navigator had never come along. Deimos was only good enough to mess around with when there was no one else to fuck. Cain thought he was dirty and that was that.

Cain clenched his teeth as Deimos brought him off fast and hard and just the way he knew Cain liked, Cain leaning his forehead on Deimos’ shoulder and sucking a dark bruise just below the scar at the base of Deimos' neck.

Deimos twisted his wrist out of Cain’s grasp and pushed his fingers through Cain’s wet hair while he could, drawing Cain's body against him. Cain growled and wrapped an arm around Deimos' waist, nearly lifting Deimos off his feet, and kissed him fast and rough, fucking him with his tongue. He cupped Deimos’ face in one calloused hand and Deimos knew Cain was close to coming now. He only ever kissed when he was losing himself, but still Deimos treasured these moments between them, even if Cain would only resent them both for it later. For now Deimos could trick himself into thinking a kiss from Cain actually meant something.

Cain called him a whore again as he came, hot and thick between Deimos’ fingers, and Deimos held onto him for as long as Cain would let himself be held, kissing the side of Cain’s neck as the hot water sluiced down over them, washing Cain’s come down the drain.

Cain pulled away too soon, picking up the washcloth and roughly dragging it over Deimos’ body, washing away the grime and blood and old sweat before Deimos could do it for himself. “You're clean, now come on,” Cain grunted, ignoring Deimos’ still-painful arousal and switching off the taps. “We’ve got a lot to do if we're gonna get this asshole good.” He grabbed Deimos by the wrist to drag him into the locker-room and Deimos let him.

 


End file.
